


Private Lesson

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Series: Two out of Three [5]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Coming-of-age, Gen, Life crossroads, Male-Female Friendship, Mariemaia POV, Pre-Romance, Preventers (Gundam Wing), The use of guns, first person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14099295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: Takes place in A.C. 206.Mariemeia Khushrenada (now officially “Mia Une”) is ready to choose a career path.  Her best friend wants to make sure she’s as ready as she thinks she is.Mariemeia POV.





	Private Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> This has been on my hard drive since 2016 or so. In fact, once upon a Tumblr post, I flashed a teaser... so one part of this may seem slightly familiar. (^_~)
> 
> "Private Lesson" is meant to be a lead-in to the next novel-length story in the TooT universe BUT I haven't even begun working on that monster yet... and I have no idea when or if it will happen. Still, I'd like to share this ficlet with you. I hope you like it.
> 
> Notes:  
> Mariemaia changed her name to Mia Une after the Endless Waltz rewrite in TooT.  
> Heero Yuy changed his name to Gerald Yukitani.  
> Duo Maxwell is now Joself "JC" Cross.  
> Trowa Barton is now Tristan Armstrong.  
> Quatre and Wufei both kept their birth names.  
> I have no idea what Lady Une's first name is, but she looks like a "Lydia" to me.
> 
> Also, for your reference, Mariemaia is 18 years old. Heero is 26.

 

This was worse than being called to the headmaster’s office.  Worse because I could be sure I wasn’t in trouble if Headmaster Hughes wanted a word with me.  It was always something about the students’ rights organization I’d been voted president of or the next fundraiser that Youth Against Poverty had scheduled.  I was the secretary of that.

I lifted my arms as the guard waved a metal detector wand in front of my chest, along my limbs, and up my back.  This was the second time I’d ever been inside the Preventers HQ and things looked different and yet unchanged.  Both at the same time.  Somehow.

“Fourth floor,” I was told by the security officer and followed her directions toward the elevators.

A cab was waiting; the doors slid open the moment I pressed the call button.  I stepped inside and pivoted to face the panel of floor indicator lights.  I took a deep breath as I pushed the one for the fourth floor.  The placard on the faux-wood paneling listed all the destinations accessible to visitors.

4F Office of the Director, L. Une

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.  My adoptive mother had never summoned me to her workplace before.  There’d been a couple of times during school holidays when she’d sent agents to the house to guard me — of course they hadn’t said as much, but why else would a pair of armed Preventers wander from room to room, from curtained window to curtained window, all day long?  She must have received some kind of threat or something, but I’d never been pulled out of school and brought here before.

Whatever was going on, it was serious.

The elevator doors slid open before I was ready, and I was startled by what I saw.

Duo Maxwell — but he went by “JC” now — was sitting forward in one of the low armchairs in the reception area beside Trowa Barton — I mean, Tristan Armstrong.  The man who’d taken and then relinquished my dead uncle’s name was leaning back, almost slumped in his seat with an arm looped casually across the back of his husband’s chair.  Both men sat with their feet planted on the floor.  Both were staring at the office directly opposite them as they signed and tapped out subtle messages to each other.

I’d studied various kinds of sign language, but I couldn’t recognize this one.  It was almost military, but nearly Morse code.  Maybe it was a language all their own.

Just then, the elevator pinged at me and I leaped out before I ended up riding back down to the lobby.  Trowa stiffened and Duo’s head snapped in my direction.

“Miss M!” he greeted cheerfully with a wave.

I returned the gesture.  “Hi, JC.  Hi, Tristan.”

Duo and Trowa both stood up and Trowa nodded once in greeting.

Duo crowed, “Whoa!  Long time, no see, eh?”

I nodded, unsure of what to say.  I was normally a lot more confident, but every comment my brain generated was worse than the last.

_I haven’t seen either of you since my grandfather’s trial._

_Duo, your hair has grown out._

_You two don’t look much like normal gay guys._

_I never noticed how hot you both are together._

“Did you get my graduation announcement?” I settled on saying.

“Yes, we did.  And as soon as we’re _finally_  allowed to have our scheduled meeting with the director—”  Duo rolled his eyes and I grinned at his sarcasm.  “—we’ll be able to RSVP.”

Trowa spoke over Duo’s shoulder.  “Congratulations, Mia.”

“Thank you,” I replied, marveling in silence at the fact that neither man was as tall as I remembered.  Duo was shorter than me now and I was almost tall enough to look Trowa square in the eye.

It had been a very long time since I’d seen either of them in person.

“So, whatcha got lined up after you’re done with school?” Duo inquired with more genuine curiosity than anyone else who’d asked me the same question.

I instantly recalled why I’d liked Duo so much.  Even though I was standing here in my school uniform, he wasn’t treating me like child.  “Well, actually, I’ve submitted my application to the academy.”

“The academy,” he mused.  “Which one?”

I blinked at him.  “This one.  For the Preventers.”

“You—really?  That’s cool.”  I could see that Duo really thought so, too.  “Hell, we’d be lucky to have you.  Have you decided what specialization?”

I studied their nondescript pseudo-military uniforms and proudly informed them, “I want to be an agent.”

Duo stared at me for a moment, then his gaze flickered toward Trowa and both men glanced at the door they’d been watching when I’d stepped off of the elevator.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Oh, um…”  Duo angled his jaw forward and blew out a breath that ruffled his bangs.   “It’s just, uh, that could explain a lot.”

“Explain what exactly?”

Trowa told me, “It explains why Gerald is here.”

My heart skipped, twirled, and pirouetted within my chest.  “Ger—”  I cleared my throat.  “Gerald is here?”

“Yeah,” Duo drawled with a warning look, “an’ he ain’t lookin’ too happy.”

I turned my attention in the direction that he and Trowa had been watching when I’d arrived and took one step and then another deeper into the reception area.  I poked my head around the corner and spotted a simple, tan door.  Upon it was a small, brass plate:

**L. Une**

**Director**

Oh.

I turned to Duo for more details.  “I thought Gerald was still touring L1 with Quatre?”

Duo shrugged.  “It looks like your letters caught up to him.  You tell him you wanted to be an agent?”

Of course I had.  I told Heero _everything_  and he always understood.  He understood me better than anyone else.  Ever since that horrible day five years ago when my own grandfather had fired the shot that should have killed me — would have incinerated me if it hadn’t been for Duo putting his Deathscythe between us and protecting me from the blast of that Beam Cannon.  Duo may have saved my life, but it had been Heero who had found me later.  He’d stood with me at the window of this very building and we’d watched night descend on the city.  He’d stood and said nothing for the longest time, but then I’d heard him speak softly.

“You were right to listen to your heart,” he’d told me and I’d looked up at him through the shock and numbness.  He’d met my gaze — I’d never seen such intensely electric blue eyes before — and with his arms crossed over his chest, he’d been so intimidating.  But instead of frightening me, he’d reached through the nothingness and drawn me back to myself.  “You followed your emotions,” he’d explained.  “That was very brave and it was the right thing to do.  Your grandfather was wrong.”

“But...” _how could he be wrong,_  I could remember wondering.  At the time, it had been inconceivable that the man who had raised me could be anything less than infallible and omniscient.

“Your grandfather is a man, just a man,” Heero had said, his tone flat and true.  “Men make mistakes.  People make mistakes.  The heart doesn’t.  Remember that.  When you’re unsure of everything else, remember that.”

I had.

I remembered everything Heero had said that night.  I remembered every word he’d written in his letters and I trusted him with everything that was important to me.  My future was important to me, so of course I’d told him what I’d decided to do with my life.  Why wouldn’t I?  He was my best friend.

He was my best friend and he was just a few meters away on the other side of that door.  My hands suddenly felt cold and clammy, my palms sweaty, and my school uniform felt even more ill-fitting than normal — over the last year, I’d gained another two inches in height but hadn’t bothered to have any alterations done.  The sleeves of my blouse were too short and the shoulders tight.  The hem of the pleated skirt rode up my bare thighs.

I shouldn’t be this nervous about seeing Ger.  We really were just friends.

“I don’t understand,” I managed past the dry, tight ache in my throat.  “Gerald came back to Earth because I told him I wanted to be an agent?”

“Can’t confirm or deny that, Miss M,” Duo admitted, “but he stormed in there like, um, like, uh…”  He shifted toward Trowa.  “Help me out with a metaphor here, babe.”

Trowa supplied, “Like he was about to go to war again.”

A shiver rippled through Duo’s shoulders.  “Damn right.”

I stiffened.

“Look, Mia, why don’t you have a seat?” Duo invited kindly.

I bit my lip.  “Maybe I should go in there.”

“Maybe you should tell me how many beds you’ve short-sheeted this week.”

“What?”

Duo shrugged unapologetically.  “Boarding school, right?  That’s gotta be Prank Central!”

I appreciated Duo’s attempt to distract me from what had to be an unpleasant scene in the director’s office, but I couldn’t let him.  And besides, I didn’t want to be distracted.  If they were talking about me, then I had every right to be there.  A duty, even.

“JC, Tristan, it was really nice seeing you again.”  I heard Duo sigh as I headed for the closed door, but I didn’t stop.  I didn’t slow down.  I lifted my fist and knocked three times.

“Enter.”

“Good afternoon,” I told the secretary seated behind a neatly arranged desk.  “I’m here to see the director.”

“Yes, go right in, Miss Une.  The director is expecting you.”

I nodded, my eyes narrowing.  I could feel myself getting angry and I didn’t fight it.  The emotion warmed me, fueled me, gave me the strength to march through the indicated door instead of shrugging in like a timid, disobedient little girl.

I wasn’t a little girl anymore and I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Mia,” my adoptive mother said.  “Close the door behind you, please.”

I did as she asked, but my attention was on the man standing across the room glaring out the large picture window.  He was clutching what looked like one of my letters in his right hand and I was suddenly furious.  How dare he share those with anyone!  I’d told him things — private things — in confidence!

“You wanted to see me?” I asked with the briefest glance at the director.  Then I went back to staring hard at Heero, willing him to turn around and look at me.

_Just look at me!_

“Yes,” the director began.  “I’ve just been informed that you applied for the Preventer Academy to become a field agent.”

I nodded.  “That’s right.”

“It didn’t occur to you to discuss this with me before submitting your application?”

“No,” I admitted.  “I wasn’t aware that there would be a problem.”

My adoptive mother regarded me with raised brows.  “Clearly, you are aware that there is a problem now.”

“Because Gerald came all this way to report to you.”   _Turn around and look at me!_

“Why Mister Yukitani is here isn—”

“The whole reason you pulled me out of my lessons,” I interrupted.  “Don’t try to manage me, Lydia.”  I didn’t often call my adoptive mother by her given name.  So she had to know how furious I was.

“Very well.”  She stood up and gathered the few loose papers that were spread out upon her desk.  “Mister Yukitani, I have a meeting I must attend.  You’re free to use my office to speak with Mia.”

“Thank you, Director.”

Collecting her briefcase, my adoptive mother moved toward the door, pausing beside me to say only, “We just want you to be safe and happy, Mia.”

She didn’t wait for me to reply.  I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t trust myself to speak.

The door shut behind her.  I didn’t move, didn’t uncross my arms or stop glaring.  I wanted nothing more than to run over to Heero, throw my arms around him, and hug him until he grunted.  I curled my trembling fingers into my biceps instead.

“You don’t want this, Mia,” he said.

I gritted my teeth as he turned around.  Still, he wasn’t looking at me.  He was staring at the letter in his hand.

“You had no right to show that to the director.”

His head lifted and I was pinned by that laser-like, blue gaze.  “I didn’t,” he replied.  “I wouldn’t.”

I shrank back a half step.  I wasn’t ready to believe him.  “Then why are you standing there holding it?”

He looked down at the crumpled paper in his grasp.  He took a deep breath and shook his head.  “I don’t…”

I braced myself for him to lie to me.  I could just about hear it: _I don’t know._   That’s what he was going to say, and it was going to be a lie.  And if he could lie to my face, what could I trust to be true in all the letters he’d written to me over the years?

“I don’t think this is a good time to discuss it,” he answered.

I gaped at him.  “I think it is.”

“Mia,” he breathed out, exasperated and exhausted.  “The director was correct.  I’m here because I care about you.”

“Well, all right, then,” I replied, letting go of a little of my anger but not all of it.  If I did, I wasn’t sure what I would end up doing, and that frightened me.

I watched as he folded my letter and slid it into the inside pocket of his grey suit jacket where it would rest close to his heart.  I told myself that that wasn’t why he’d chosen that particular pocket.  It was just a pocket.  I was being ridiculous.

Heero looked up and at me.  His hair wasn’t any neater than it had been the last time I’d seen him… or seen a photo of him in the news reels as he’d maintained his place at Quatre’s side.  It still looked like the worst bedhead in the history of the Earth and colonies.  Did it always look like this or was it even worse at five o’clock in the morning, before his first cup of coffee or morning run or shower—

_Stop._

I blinked myself back into the room and the man standing awkwardly in it.  The muscles along his jaw bunched as he ground his teeth together.  His fingers curled into fists and his shoulders tensed and then, just as suddenly, he relaxed.  He moved forward — stalked or maybe prowled — and reached out a hand to me.

Stunned, I accepted it.

“Come on,” he said, and kept right on moving toward the door.

“What?  Ger, where are we going?”  Not that I really cared.  His hand was really warm and larger than mine and I liked that.  I liked it a lot.

He turned and our gazes met.

I was taller than him.

He had the bluest eyes in the universe.

Did he have to shave every day?

Were his lips softer than they looked?

“I’m going to show you what it’s like.”

I tried to speak — I really did — but my voice was no longer present in my body.  I hitched my brows up and quirked my chin in a silent question that he understood immediately.

“To kill someone.”

My eyes widened.

“Preventer agents are shot at,” Heero bluntly explained.  “Anyone with something to lose could try to kill you, and you will be forced to defend yourself.  We’re going to the shooting range.  I’m teaching you how to handle a gun.”

I glanced at his side.  Was he wearing a gun under his suit jacket?  Wasn’t that part of his job?  Protecting Quatre?

“At Reception lock-up,” he told me.  “Downstairs.”

Yes, because security wouldn’t have let him bring a weapon into the building.

“Is that the one we’re going to use?” I asked.

His chin jerked slightly as he processed my question.  “Do you have a preference?”

Very much so, but it didn’t matter and why was I even asking and what was wrong with me?  “What do you recommend?” I countered and it was a relief when that blue stare stopped scanning my face and he reached for the door knob.

“We’ll start with a nine millimeter revolver.  Something with a long barrel.  It’ll be heavy, but more accurate—”

Wow.  Heero knew a lot about guns.  I’d known this on some level, I supposed, but it’d never really seemed relevant or real before now.

But it was very real.  And it became more and more real with every step.  Past the secretary’s desk.  Through the now-empty reception area.  Into the elevator and down to the main lobby where Heero collected his guns (one for a shoulder holster beneath his jacket and one for his ankle) and then out into Visitor Parking.  I sat stiffly in the passenger seat as he quickly navigated the compound and pulled up beside a non-descript brick building.

He shut off the engine, got out of the car, and I watched him walk around the hood to my side where I was still sitting with my seatbelt on.  He opened the door and leaned down, extending a hand.

I nearly took it, but then I remembered the seatbelt.  He waited, didn’t move an inch as I fumbled with the buckle.  It released and I tossed the belt away, irritated with myself for being so clumsy.  I was never this much of a forgetful klutz.  Heero and I were friends.  Just friends.

But then I looked up and our eyes met for the tiniest moment.  My palm slid across his and it generated sparks of static electricity and friction.

He pulled me to my feet and slammed the car door shut.  He dropped my hand, but cupped my elbow as he directed me toward the entrance.

“Ashton,” he said with a nod to the on-duty officer.

“Yukitani.  Good to see you again.”  The man glanced at me but said nothing as he slid a sign-in sheet across the counter.  Heero scribbled his name in the provided space and I stared at his handwriting.  Slanted harshly, nearly illegible.  His penmanship had never looked so angry in his letters.

The possibility pushed back my own nerves and I studied his profile, but I couldn’t decide if he was truly angry or not.  He was upset, that was certain.  Was he upset with me?  What had I even done to deserve it?

“You need to get into the armory?” Ashton asked.

Heero nodded and the man passed him an electronic access card.

The armory was… overwhelming.  Every inch of wall space held a gun of some kind.  Heero chose one and then opened up a seemingly random drawer in one of the free-standing islands and collected a box of ammunition.

It wasn’t until I was standing in a slot of the shooting gallery that I realized I was about to fire a gun.

“This is the safety,” Heero began, flicking a little switch on the side of the hand grip.  He lectured me on every part of the gun, on how to load it, on how to hold it and align it.  He described the correct stance and then reached out to grip my hips and shift me when I moved too slowly to obey.

Then he snapped a pair of noise-cancelling headphones on my ears before donning a pair himself.  It was time for me to squeeze the trigger.

I checked that the safety was off.  I lifted the gun.  I sighted like Heero had taught me.  I curled my finger around the trigger.

I could do this.  Other people did this all the time.  I could do this.

I aimed for the white outline of a human being on the black paper hanging some distance away.

Encountering more resistance than I’d expected, I coached myself to _just pull the trigger!_

I did.

The force of the shot jerked my shoulders and the muzzle of the gun kicked upward.  When Heero grabbed my elbows and shook them out, I realized I was standing with every muscle locked.  I was holding my breath.  I let it out.

My heart was pounding.  The smell of gunpowder made my nose itch.

Heero gestured for me to try again.

I lifted the gun.  I sighted.  Heero nudged me and mimed for me to tighten my grip, which I did.  Then he nodded for me to go ahead.

_Bang!_

There was a hole in the black outline.  A small, round hole that showed the white walls beyond.  If this had been a real person, I would have shot them in the belly.

Heero tapped the back of my wrist and gestured down the range.   _Again,_ he seemed to say, so I shot again.

_Again._

_Bang!_

_Again._

_Bang!_

_Again._

_Bang!_

_Reload._

My fingers were shaking as I opened the barrel and emptied the casings onto the counter.  One by one, I slid six new bullets into the chambers.

I fired those as well because he told me to.

And then I stopped.

“Reload,” he said when I pulled off my protective headphones.

“No,” I told him.  How many imaginary people had I shot because of an insignificant gesture from him?  How many people could I have killed?  “I’m not shooting again without a very good reason.”

He stared at me and I stared back.  I could feel him peeling away my thoughts.  I was a small flower trying to stand tall in a hurricane.

“You are Treize Khushrenada’s daughter,” he reminded me.  “You are Dekim Barton’s granddaughter.  You had enemies before you were even born.”

I stiffened.

“They are out there, and if they have the chance to hurt you — to kill you — they will take it.  If you become a Preventer, you will move in their world and you will give them those chances.”

“If they’re as determined as you say, then they’ll come after me no matter where I am,” I reasoned.

Heero nodded.  “It’s possible.”

I turned away from the unvarnished truth of his words and looked down the length of the shooting gallery at the bullet-riddled paper cut-out.

“It’s not a question of whether or not you can,” he told me and I knew he was talking about the gun I’d set aside and the fictional people I’d shot.  “Anyone can kill.  It’s a question of whether or not you can live with what you’ve done afterwards.”

“You mean guilt,” I murmured.  I was already feeling that weight settling upon my shoulders and seeping into my belly.

“No, not guilt.  It’s possible to rationalize your actions until you feel nothing.”

Was he speaking from experience?

I swallowed thickly.

“Once you pick up a gun and pull the trigger, you’re committed.  You can lay down the gun again, but it’ll always be with you.  It becomes a part of you.  You’ve fired a lethal weapon.  You are lethal.  You can’t undo that.”

I stared at him.

“Do you want that gun to be in your hand for the rest of your life?” he asked.

I didn’t look at the gun that I’d abandoned.  I looked at the paper cut-out.  I had done that.  I had fired a gun and caused those “wounds.”  Someday, if I were an agent, I might have to put holes in something other than a sheet of paper.  I might have to use lethal force to protect myself, my partner, a witness, or an innocent bystander.

Was I capable of that?

Did I _want_  to be capable of that?

“It’s your decision,” Heero concluded.

It really was, wasn’t it?  For the first time in my life, I knew deep down that my decisions could and would define me, shape me, mold me.  Being an agent was going to require a lot more than a signature on an enrollment application.  Being an agent was going to be about more than saving the day and prolonging the peace.

Being an agent would change me.  If I looked far enough down that road, would I be able to see the woman I’d become?  Would I like her?  Would I be proud to be her?

I had a lot to think about.

I turned to Heero.  He was still watching me.  Always watching and watching out for me.  He hadn’t gotten impatient with me, hadn’t checked his wristwatch for the time, hadn’t shifted or fidgeted or sighed.  He really did care about me.  He’d made time for me, for this, without reservation or complaint.

This was why Heero Yuy — Gerald Yukitani — was my best friend.

My anger from earlier was gone, so there was nothing to stop me from throwing my arms around his shoulders and hugging him.  So that’s what I did.  Behind his neck and between his strong shoulders, I gripped my forearms tightly and held on.  

His arms curved around me.  He held me close and he was so warm and his body was so solid and safe.  I lowered my forehead to his shoulder and breathed deeply, squeezed my eyes shut and suffered through a riot of sensation.  He smelled like white, generic, bar soap and something else.  Something spicy and a little woodsy and mellow.  I guess he smelled like Heero.  Like Ger.

“When are you leaving?” I asked into his collar.

“Tomorrow.”

“Back to space?”

“Yes.”

My eyes burned and my vision blurred.  It wasn’t fair.  I hated how unfair life was.

“It’s 16:45 hours,” he observed.

I nodded, still clinging to him.  Just this moment, just a little longer, just—

“School’s out for the day,” he added.

That was true.

“Are you hungry?”

A bubble of miserable laughter escaped me.  “Absolutely.  Yourself?”

“Famished.”  He rubbed my back one last time and reached up to untangle my arms from around his shoulders.  “Dinner?  My treat.”

I grinned and more tears filled my eyes.  I wiped them away with the cuffs of my outgrown blouse.  “When was the last time you had a pizza with pineapple on it?” I challenged.

He grimaced.  “Never.”

“Well, it’s going to happen today because you don’t know what you’ve been missing.”

He sighed.  It was long and martyred, but it was ruined by the tiny curve of his mouth.

“I’ve missed you,” I blurted and that little upward twitch of his lips became a small but genuine smile.  I thought of the letters I’d written to him and the one that was tucked carefully into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, resting close to his heart, and I didn’t mind that he didn’t say the words back to me.

He’d already said lots of words.  I still had every single one of his letters, after all.  What was even better than that was what was standing right in front of me.  Heero and I, we had more than just words.  He’d come all the way from the colonies to show me what it felt like to fire a gun.  He’d helped me imagine what kind of person I’d be if I took up the awesome duty to protect and serve.  And now he was going to wait for me to make my own decisions, choose my own future, be my own person.

My own grandfather had never given me as much as this.

“Thanks, Ger,” I said, wishing I could be more eloquent.

His blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his face softened.  “I would do it again, Mia.”

Would he spend another twenty hours on a shuttle just to be here now giving me a second private lesson?

Yes.  Yes, I believed he would.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I learned how to shoot a gun (a revolver and semi-automatic handgun) a year or so before writing this fic and I'm not sure if everyone experiences this consciously, but I think subconsciously people do absorb the awesome and terrifying power of it. The thought of ending a human life is extremely abstract... until you learn HOW to end a human life. And then all it takes is the right set of circumstances and... it scared the daylights out of me. But also gave me a deeper and broader respect for peace and the people who not only protect it, but make it possible daily by simply living in it.
> 
> No, you are not imagining the romance vibes. Now you know who I've had in mind for Heero since the end of "Two out of Three." Yes, eight years is a big age gap when Mariemaia is still under 25, but I kinda think she and Heero are on the same page most of the time, especially emotionally? ...and also regarding how they deal with the trauma of war and... I dunno. I just ship them, OK?


End file.
